


Languid, Lingering

by pressedinthepages



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, all of the smooches, lazy witcher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: The scents of home well up in Eskel’s chest as he prepares to leave.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Languid, Lingering

**Author's Note:**

> A COLLAB, MY DUDES!!! Both myself and Margaret @sometimesiwrite contributed to this piece, and we’re so happy to share it! Please, please, pleaseeee go check her out, she is a wonderful author and an even better human being :) Also......there may even be discussions of a Chapter 2...

Her fingers drifted over various jars in the cupboard, the glass tinkling lightly from her haphazard search. Cinnamon sticks bounced and little seeds were jumbled as she pulled several containers into her grasp. She extracted a large jar filled to the brim with fresh honey, smelling the floral notes that rose out.

A ceramic bowl joined the ingredients on the counter and was soon filled with oats, flour, and spices. She dusted the counter with a bit of extra flour in preparation before pouring in the ripened mother that had been sitting to the side, happily fermenting for the better part of the last day. It was cidery and sweet as she mixed it in with the final ingredients.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her waist, large and warm where the fingers splayed over her stomach. She leaned into the touch and Eskel smiled into her shoulder, breathing deeply against the junction of her neck. 

“Hello, there,” she hummed, stirring and stirring the stiff dough into submission. The dough was starting to come together, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was forgetting something… she heard the sound of a lid opening to her left, and looked over just in time to see one of Eskel’s free fingers steal a large dollop of honey. His lips smacked next to her ear as his warmth at her back withdrew.

“Oi, get out of there! Silly bumblebee,” she nudged him gently with her elbow, wiping her hands on her apron.

His laugh reverberated through their small kitchen as he retreated, cheekily licking his fingers.

She shook her head, turning back to her mixing bowl. It was mere moments later when, reaching to add a swirl of honey, she realized Eskel had stolen the whole jar. A resigned sigh seeped through the smile on her face as she turned to chase down the culprit. He was nothing if not a creature of habit, so she was not surprised when she peeked into their bedroom to find him sprawled across the blankets, pot of honey in hand and dripping down over his fingers.

“I swear to Melitele, if you’ve gotten honey on our clean sheets...” she snatched the honey back—only half-irritated. It was nearly impossible to be fully irritated with her sweet witcher, especially when he was so relentlessly good to her... for that, she forgave his occasional bouts of kitchen mischief. Even if it meant chasing down missing jars of honey. 

Eskel just hummed, rolling lazily onto his stomach. He gazed at her as if she hung the sun as her hips swayed out of the room, counting his lucky stars that he had her in his life.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long ago he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, the smell of baking filled the house—honey, oats and wheat. If there was any smell on earth he associated with that woman and the home she shared with him, it was honey, oats, and wheat.

Eskel stretched out, his fingers reaching far past the edge of the bed before he swung his legs off the mattress and stood up. Bare feet padded quietly on the wooden floors to where he found her standing at the table, carefully packaging several slices of sweet bread in fabric. He could see the rest of the loaf sitting atop a wooden board, and his feet led him straight to his bounty.

By now, her ear was well-tuned to the sound of her quiet witcher approaching—it was the only way to protect the cooking from being pillaged before it was finished—and she braced herself. Large, warm hands once again slipped around her hips as Eskel’s nose nuzzled back into the crook of her neck. He breathed deep, letting the fresh-baked aroma mingle with her own.

“Thank you for joining us,” she said, passing a crumb to their little brown dog in the corner—far less little than it had been a month ago. “Now you mustn’t eat these parcels, they’re for you when you leave tomorrow. But the rest of the loaves we can have for ourselves whenever we like.”

Eskel hummed dejectedly, stubbornly refusing to abandon the sweet junction of her neck and shoulder. One of his hands, though, started to snake its way onto the table, long fingers reaching for a stray crumb of the sweet, nutty bread.

She laughed quietly as she melted back against his front. “I can cut you a whole piece, my love, you needn’t steel crumbs from the table.”

Eskel chuckled, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking away the morsels. “Well, if you insist...”

She turned her head and pressed a soft kiss against the angry scars down the side of his face. “I do.”

“Then how am I to say no,” he whispered, kneading into the soft flesh just below her waist, “when the Lady insists so sweetly?” She reached back and fondly ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck, taking up the bread knife with the other hand to cut a thick slice from the loaf. Having buttered it, she turned in Eskel’s loosened grip, offering him his very own piece. Not wanting to lose the supple warmth beneath his hands, he opened his mouth and took a bite from the slice where she held it.

“Mmm,” he groaned around his mouthful, “fuck.”

She chuckled with a shake of her head, watching his throat bob as he swallowed. She offered another bite, and another after that as Eskel’s thumbs rubbed along her hips, back and forth, soothing her and him in the same motion.

He took the last mouthful out of her hand, licking every last bit of butter and crumbs from her thumb as he continued to chew, indulging shamelessly in the soft, warm, buttery goodness pervading his senses. He was practically still chewing when he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were smooth with butter, warm with adoration, and sweet with the taste of honey that still lingered from his previous pilfering.

The witcher’s large warm hands left her hips to grasp her backside as she was hoisted up into Eskel’s arms, legs wrapping around his waist. “Woman,” he rumbled joyfully, “what would I do... without your bread?”

She fondly  _ tsked _ , still shaking her head adoringly as he turned them away from the kitchen table. “And just where do you think we’re going?” She asked, eyebrows raised

A mischievous chuckle buzzed against her chest, “The same place I take all my stolen goodies. But you are by far the sweetest.”

She tucked her head into his shoulder and inhaled deeply too, swimming in the heady musk that emanated from him. Eskel’s hips jostled her a bit as he pushed through the doorway with his back first, spinning quickly into their bedroom.

_ Our bedroom _ , he pondered, lying down on his back, supporting her as she arranged her knees on either side of him. He sighed deeply, letting her weight settle on top of him as she leaned down. Linen-clad elbows bracketed the witcher’s head as his miracle of a woman stretched out over top of him.  _ What a glorious place. _

Eskel’s hands barely contained the chaos that threatened to spill from them as they trailed up and down the slope of her spine. He gained a quiet shiver for his easy efforts.

“Eskel,” she breathed into his ear, winning a shiver of her own, “tell me what you want...”

There was a groan as he stroked firmly up her sides, “I want your bread for as long as you’re willing to bake it for me, and us like this for as long as you’ll put up with me,” he breathed lightheartedly. But  _ Gods _ he meant every word of it. Her laugh was low and breathy as she shifted a little, gathering her skirts out from under her knees and shucking off her bodice, leaving her plain chemise to drape delicately over her figure. Eskel tilted his head where it rested on the mattress, admiring the view. She brushed his hair away from his face, beaming at the simple, unfraught happiness written there. “Well, then, love?”

“Let’s start slow. See where the road takes us,” he ran his hands across the spread of her chest, down her arms and back up, caressing the slope of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the roundness of her buttocks. Admiring the strength of her thighs, propped wide on either side of him. 

She shuddered under his touch as his fingers dug into the soft plush of her hips. She kissed down the sharp line of his jaw as her own nimble fingers drifted under the hem of his shirt. His stomach was soft, corded muscle nestled beneath. Eskel sucked in a breath as if to say something, but held his tongue.

“What is it, my love?” She murmured, looking into the eyes so filled with fire and adoration they threatened to burn her to the bone.

She blushed under their heat as the honey gold trailed over the features of her face, down the lines of her body, and back to her eyes. Eskel swallowed, "It's nothing." But she knew better, even as he cradled her back and subtly rocked his hips beneath her.

"Eskel..."  _ after all our time together, you’d think he’d have figured out he can’t hide _ . "Tell me, my love. Whatever it is, you can always tell me.”

"I don't want to leave tomorrow." The certainty of his answer cut through the muffled quiet of the bedroom.

She sat up a bit, resting a patient hand in the middle of his chest, "How do you feel about that?" 

"I dunno, I've—I've never had that feeling before. It’s nice. Not wanting to go."

"Then don't," her warm, enticing smile met the tender skin of his neck.

“I have to go  _ sometime _ ,” he let out a helpless moan. “Fuck it. I’ll go when the bread’s gone.”

“Which  _ will _ be tomorrow, if I know you,” she teased, worrying a wine-stain mark into the space just above his collar bone.

“If I know  _ you _ ,” he huffed, tangling his fingers in her hair, “you’ll bake more.” Her lips trailed downwards...

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @pressedinthepages, and Margaret @sometimesiwrite


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